poetinside

They danced the distance between our seats, interlocking and unfolding, fingertips on knuckles and nails on palms. They fumbled their way, involuntarily and unconsciously, to the backs of knees and inner thighs. They betrayed us, these hands, for we could no longer claim dominion over the things they said.

They whispered courage and hope and made us believe everything life had told us we shouldn’t. They told us that to touch is the single most insuppressible human instinct. They told the hesitant truth under tables and made awkward promises when no one was watching. They begged to be heard and so we let them educate us, these wise hands, and for once refused to silence those parts of ourselves that know best what we need.